


Statues

by 1949



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Maggie Smith as Anya Waynwood, One does not simply mess with Anya Waynwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1949/pseuds/1949
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Littlefinger is a clever man. Too clever, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statues

**Author's Note:**

> From AFFC:
> 
> “Lady Waynwood?” Alayne could hardly believe it. “Why would she marry one of her sons to... to a...”  
> “... bastard? For a start, you are the Lord Protector’s bastard, never forget. The Waynwoods are very old and very proud, but not as rich as one might think, as I discovered when I began buying up their debt."

**Anya Waynwood**

 

"Would you like some tea? Wallace and I were just about to have some."

 

Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Protector of the Vale, and husband of the late, _lamented_ Lady Lysa, smiled across her solar. "I must decline. Why don't we walk somewhere...more private." He made no move to sit down.

 

Anya's lips curled ever so slightly. "As you wish." She waved the tea away and stood, reaching for her walking stick. Baelish's eyes glittered slightly, as if amused.

 

"Well, do you have something pleasant to say?" she asked as they walked along a corridor towards the Hallowed Staircase of Ironoaks. "You did say you were here on a social visit, and as such I am expecting you to be...social."

 

"Of course, I wouldn't think otherwise." Baelish swept his cloak of courtesy around him again, though it did not reach his eyes. "I'm afraid I had to be a trifle...disingenuous. Your gatekeeper is a most untrustworthy fellow..."

 

"Lord Baelish, if you think one's nobility is measured by the length of one's words, I suggest you return to your ledgers. What is your purpose here?"

 

Baelish's eyes narrowed, and the cloak of civility disappeared. "Your ward, Harry Hardyng. The heir to the Vale, whom those who knew Jon Arryn in his youth say is the Old Falcon reborn."

 

"Thank you, I am quite aware of that." _I was there when Jon Arryn was a boy, you blithering idiot._  


 

"I would like to have him betrothed to my natural daughter, Alayne. You may remember her from when you visited the Eyrie. Tall, with black hair..."

 

"I am well aware of who she is. And the answer is no."

 

"You might be interested to know something that, I'm sure, will change your mind." They had reached the Hallowed Staircase, one that the first owners of Ironoaks had built. Baelish pulled a scroll out of his tunic and pretended to study it. "House Waynwood is, I believe, two hundred and seventeen thousand dragons in debt?" He rolled up the scroll and pointed around them. "Oh, I know it hurts you nobles of the cloth, but don't try to deny it. The cracks in the walls, that crumbling ballustrade, the layers of dust on those stone creatures leaning over the staircase...the Waynwoods have had to take loans for centuries from the banking families of Gulltown, and now you can barely afford the interest, let alone make repairs to this fine old castle of yours. I do feel pity, seeing an old, exulted family in such desparate straights. Believe me, I wish to see that burden alleviated." Baelish paused for affect, looking quite pleased with himself. "You see, Lady Waynwood, I've bought all your family's debts. One could say that everything you owe, you owe to me."

 

Anya Waynwood nodded gravely. "Indeed. That changes everything."

 

Baelish smiled broadly. "I was sure you'd understand, Lady Waynwood. There are, of course, ways we could arrange for that debt to be cancelled."

 

She nodded slowly. "I suppose I must close that debt." Anya Waynwood leaned against her walking staff, then pressed down on the hidden lever in crack in the wall.

 

The stone lion came crashing down onto Petyr's head. Without another word, he toppled down the staircase, followed by the broken head of the cat, then a couple suits of armor that had guarded the stairs, then, amidst a cloud of dust, most of the crumbling balustrade.

 

"I've always wanted to use that," Anya exclaimed softly to herself, before tapping the lever back into the wall.

 

Wallace came running from the solar, his face aghast. "Th-the-the Lord Pro-pro-tect-protector...is he d-dead?"

 

"Be quiet, you blithering idiot. Of course he's dead." Her voice softened as her youngest son stammered some more. "It appears Lord Baelish has had an unfortunate accident. Ah well, we may finally make some repairs to this castle." She turned and swept majestically up the stairs to finish the tea that Lord Baelish had so rudely interrupted.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by thinking that Maggie Smith (the Dowager in Downton Abbey, Minerva McGonagall in Harry Potter) is exactly how I picture Anya Waynwood.


End file.
